Chapter 226

Elara’s POV

The hallway stretched before me like a tunnel with no end.

I checked Lyra’s room first. She was curled on her side, silver hair fanned across the pillow, one small fist tucked beneath her chin. Her breathing was slow. Even. Peaceful. She knew nothing of the poison spreading through these walls.

I watched her for a long moment. My daughter. My perfect, innocent girl.

I pulled the door shut without a sound.

Valerius’s room was next. I pressed my ear to the wood before entering. A faint melody drifted through—the enchanted music box Brenna had given him. Tinkling notes, soft as falling snow. I eased the door open.

He was propped against his headboard, knees drawn up, the music box balanced on the blanket beside him. His dark gold eyes—his father’s eyes—lifted to mine immediately.

“You should be sleeping,” I said.

“Can’t.”

I crossed the room and sat on the edge of his bed. “The music helps?”

He shrugged. That same one-shouldered shrug from dinner. “Sometimes.”

I reached out and smoothed a curl from his forehead. He let me. Didn’t pull away, didn’t lean in. Just watched me with that unsettling steadiness.

“Goodnight, my little warrior,” I whispered.

“Night, Mother.”

I left before he could ask me anything. Before those golden eyes could see what I was barely holding together.

The corridor leading to the sitting room was dim. Candles burned low in their sconces, casting long shadows across the stone. My footsteps slowed as I approached.

He was there.

Kaelen sat in the darkness by the cold fireplace. No flames. No light except what bled in from the hallway. His elbows rested on his knees, hands buried in his dark hair. His shoulders curved inward. The shirt he wore was creased, untucked at the back. Even from this distance, I could see the bruised hollows beneath his eyes. He looked completely drained.

He looked up when he heard me.

“Elara.”

I stopped. Ten steps between us. I counted them. Ten steps felt safe. Closer than that and I might smell her on him. Closer than that and I might shatter.

“You look—” He paused. Searched my face with a gentle gaze. “Strange. Are you alright?”

Strange. That was what he noticed. Not guilty. Not apologetic. Just concerned, the way one might be concerned about someone who appeared unwell.

“Training ran long today,” I said, lying effortlessly. My voice sounded foreign to my own ears. Flat. Controlled. “I’m tired.”

He stood. Took a step forward.

I took a step back.

He stopped. Something shifted in his expression—exhaustion, maybe guilt. I couldn’t read him anymore. Everything I thought I knew about this man had been peeled away, layer by layer, until only doubt remained.

“You should rest,” he said quietly. “Can I—”

“Goodnight, Kaelen.”

I turned before he could finish the sentence. Before the softness in his voice could reach the place inside me that still wanted to believe.

The guest room was at the far end of the wing. I closed the door. Locked it. Pressed my back against the wood and slid down until I sank to the cold floor, lying there fully clothed.

Darkness. Silence.

And then the images came, the ones Gareth had shown me.

Seraphine’s hand. Pale fingers splayed across his bare chest. Possessive. Comfortable. The kind of touch that spoke of familiarity.

Her neck. The marks. Dark against her fair skin. Teeth. His teeth. I knew those marks. I’d worn them myself once, in another life, when he’d pressed his mouth to my throat.

Now someone else wore them.

I pressed my palms against my eyes until I saw stars. It didn’t help. The images were branded behind my eyelids, torturing me.

Years.

I’d been gone for years. Years of silence. Years of raising Lyra alone in border towns and underground fighting pits while my body broke and my wolf—

My wolf.

I reached inward, the way I’d done a thousand times since losing Moonlight. Reached for the tether that should connect me to my other half. Found nothing. Just empty space. A severed cord dangling into the void.

I was incomplete. Fractured. A woman missing half her soul.

And Seraphine was whole. Beautiful. Capable. Present.

She’d been here. Every day I was gone. Every night I was bleeding in some pit for coin, she was here. In this palace. Near my children. Near my mate. Filling the space I’d left.

I bit down on my knuckle until I tasted copper.

Stop. Stop it.

But my chaotic thoughts couldn’t stop.

I worried that Kaelen only kept me around for the children, and that he and Seraphine had already built a real life together. She was everything I wasn’t. Whole. Strong. A wolf intact, a woman of noble standing who hadn’t spent years crawling through dirt and blood.

I was just a dirty secret. The inconvenient first wife who refused to stay gone.

Seraphine was the real queen.

My emotional spiral was suddenly interrupted. Something slid beneath the door.

A piece of parchment. Folded once. No seal. No identifying mark. Delivered by an anonymous messenger.

I stared at it for a long moment before picking it up. My fingers trembled as I unfolded it.

The handwriting was disguised, but the words were unmistakable in their cruelty.

Still wondering about the truth? Or have you already decided it doesn’t matter? You always were good at pretending, Elara. Come find me when you’re ready to stop.

No signature. None needed.

Gareth.

My stomach clenched. The note crumpled in my fist.

He was goading me about the truth. Testing. Dangling answers just out of reach, the way he’d dangled affection all those years ago before snatching it away and handing it to Isolde.

I knew what he was. Knew his cruel nature. Knew that every word from his mouth was calculated to wound, to manipulate, to destroy.

But the images—

Seraphine’s hand on Kaelen’s chest. The familiar marks on her throat.

If Gareth had shown me those things, he knew something. He had answers that Kaelen wouldn’t give me.

Ask Kaelen, some rational part of me whispered. Just ask him.

But how could I? I had chosen to isolate myself instead of confronting him, convinced that his exhausted, guilt-ridden demeanor was absolute proof of his affair.

What else was buried beneath his heavy silence?

I sat up on the edge of the guest bed in the dark. The note lay open on my knee. I read it again. Again.

Come find me when you’re ready to stop.

Desperate for answers, I was so tired of pretending.

Before I could think—before the rational voice could scream louder—I stood. Crossed to the door. Opened it a crack.

The hallway was empty except for a young page boy dozing on his stool near the corridor entrance.

“You,” I said. My voice came out steadier than I felt. “Fetch Prince Gareth. Tell him I wish to speak with him. Now.”

The boy blinked, startled awake. “Your Majesty? At this hour?”

“Now.”

He scrambled to his feet and disappeared into the darkness.

I closed the door. Leaned against it. My heart hammered so hard I felt it in my teeth.

This was a reckless decision. I knew it. Every instinct I had left screamed that I was falling right into Gareth’s psychological trap.

But the images wouldn’t stop. And I needed to know.

Minutes crawled past. An eternity compressed into silence.

Then footsteps. The boy’s rapid shuffle returning. A pause outside my door.

“Your Majesty,” the page said, breathless. “Prince Gareth sends his reply.”

“What did he say?”

The boy hesitated. Shifted his weight.

“He said—” A swallow. “He said: Oh, oh. I was wondering when you’d summon me.”